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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347206">Pretty Boys Like You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesalamander/pseuds/orangesalamander'>orangesalamander</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Actually scratch that Steve is just mad weird, Billy is mad gay, Canon-Typical Violence, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Steve Harrington is bisexual but very confused, Steve's house is mad weird, The kids will make an appearance eventually I promise!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:15:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesalamander/pseuds/orangesalamander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The curtains in the Harrington household were always drawn and it drove Billy Hargrove absolutely fucking nuts. Sure, it wasn't any of his business and honestly, why should he give a damn? It's Steve fucking Harrington for Christ's sake- who really gave a fuck?</p><p>-</p><p>Or, in which Steve Harrington's house is apparently the most interesting anomaly in Hawkins to Billy Hargrove.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The House on Brackery Court</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi guys! This was actually my first attempt at a ST fic, however I do have a more recent work published and being actively updated every Sunday. I'll be updating on Saturdays for this particular story, however I have 8 chapters prewritten. This story does feature multiple POVs for most chapters which isn't my favorite method, but I felt it was necessary. ANYWAYS- sit back, enjoy the ride, and let me know what you think! I love to hear you guys' thoughts. Also it'd be super duper neat if you checked out my other story Saturday Nights :)</p><p>EDIT- 5/30/20: I changed this story to have past tense verbs rather than present- I feel like it flows a bit better:)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The curtains in the Harrington household were always drawn and it drove Billy Hargrove absolutely fucking nuts. Sure, it wasn't any of his business and honestly, why should he give a damn? It's Steve fucking Harrington for Christ's sake- who <em>really</em> gave a fuck? After Billy had arrived in the desolate town of Hawkins, Indiana, it had been over for Harrington. Scratch that- Harrington had ruined it long before Billy had arrived. Billy had simply grabbed Harrington's crown as it had fallen from his mighty throne, looping it tightly around his dirty little fingers and never letting it go. But still, it irked him every time he drove by that damn house- why the hell did Harrington have to keep the house so dark and what the <em>fuck</em> was he hiding?</p><p>As Billy Hargrove drove past the Harrington residence on that cool November night in 1984, he scoffed, looking around at all of the grandiose houses all nestled neatly together in Loch Nora. "Rich fucking bastard," he scoffed, revving the engine of the camaro, increasing the speed to a rather cool 35 mph all the way up to 60. "Haha that's right, Harrington," he cackled, blowing the stop sign and turning the sharp corner at the intersection of Brackery and Chestnut, tires screeching wildly against the pavement. "Fucking loser."</p><p>For the briefest of moments he once again found himself wondering about Steve and his mysterious household, but quickly brushed the thought away, jerking the Camaro roughly into park and killing the engine right in front of Tommy H's house. The house was already bustling with people, cars strewn variously on the street and in the driveway, some even on the front lawn. Billy groaned, not wanting to leave the comfort of the camaro just yet. Hanging out with Tommy wasn't Billy's ideal Friday night, hell if he'd had it his way he'd be right on route back to Cali going 90 miles an hour without hitting the damn breaks once. However, here he was, stuck in good ol' Hawkins with his best <em>friend</em> Tommy fucking Hagan and all his fucking friends. Right on cue, Tommy strutted lazily out the door, stumbling over a crushed up beer can on the stairs. "Hey, Hargrove, long time no see, buddy!" Tommy slurred, clambering across the driveway, clearly already wasted off his ass. "Yeah, yeah, Hagan, let's just get into it, huh," he grumbled, getting out of the Camaro and carefully shutting the door. What could he say? She's his baby.</p><p>Billy reached into his jacket pocket, extracting a pack of Marlboro's flicking the pack open and lighting one up, extending the open pack into Tommy's grasp afterwards. Tommy obliged, slipping a cigarette out of the package and lighting it, breathing in the thick, warm nicotine. Billy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Drove past Harrington's house on the way here," he mumbled, taking a long drag from his cigarette. "Hmm," Tommy mumbled, blowing sickly smoke from his lips. "And? What of it?" He questioned, looking up to face Billy.</p><p>"I dunno man, just seems kinda strange," Billy replied nonchalantly. "Yeah no shit," Tommy laughed. "He's a fucking fairy, Hargrove, what'd you expect?"</p><p>Taking another long drag, Billy contemplated his answer- where the hell was he going with this anyway? "Yeah you're right, what a fucking fag," he hissed, breathing out sigh and stumping the rest of his cigarette out on the smooth, black pavement that was Tommy H's driveway. "Whatcha waitin' for, Hargrove, a fucking invitation?" Tommy grinned, already halfway through the threshold of the house by the time Billy looked up. "You better fucking watch it, Hagan," Billy growled, not in the mood to deal with Tommy's smart ass remarks on this particular evening.</p><p>As he entered the household he was immediately overwhelmed with the scent of booze, pot, and a little bit too much fucking <em>sweat</em>. Guys grinding on random girls, sleazing about to the beat of the music, a game of beer pong happening in the back yard, a random couple making out on Tommy's sofa- now <em>this</em> is what high school's all about, and look at that: not one Steve fucking Harrington and his weird ass curtains in sight.</p><p>The entire room cheered as Billy strutted into the room and it felt fucking <em>good</em>. As if she read his mind, Nicole slinked up to Billy, sliding a red solo cup of mystery booze into his grip. "Thanks gorgeous," he preened, running his hand down the length of her waist and down to her hips, giving her a subtle wink and a smirk. "Anything for you, Billy," she giggled, melting into the touch of his hand. <em>Yeah,</em> Billy could certainly get used to this.</p><p>______________</p><p>The Harrington household had slowly become an absolute madhouse after the fall of 1983 and Steve Harrington was the direct cause of it. Sure, back in his heyday he had been the self proclaimed king of Hawkins High, but now, as he sat in his bedroom staring blankly at the ceiling, he wondered why he had wasted so much goddamn <em>time</em> on high school social constructs rather than actually <em>living</em>. It was around 11 o'clock that night as Steve Harrington lay restlessly, gazing up into the dull plaster above him, perhaps waiting for something interesting to happen or, more likely than not, waiting for exhaustion to finally overtake him into an agitated sleep.</p><p>Slowly but surely, Steve felt his eyes getting heavier and heavier as he thought about what he had been just around this time last fall. He thought of the simpler times in which he had ruled Hawkins High School- a time in which on a Friday night he would be on his way to Tommy H's. As he finally began to drift off, the all too familiar sound of that goddamn blue Camaro revving startled him awake, causing him to fall into a tangled heap on the floor. "Fucking Hargrove," he mumbled, heaving himself off the plush carpeted floor and back into his warm, soft bed.</p><p>Steve Harrington laid awake until just around 3:26 that morning, thinking of what life would be like if it hadn't been for that goddamn night in November, 1983.</p><p>______________</p><p>Steve Harrington royally hated his fucking life as he jolted awake once again. Groaning and rolling over, he glanced at the glowing red lights next to him: 4:56 AM. He'd only been asleep for roughly an hour and a half. <em>Fuck</em>. Wide eyed, he sat straight up and immediately bolted towards the curtains. "Not tonight," he mumbled, pulling the fabric closer tighter, covering up the tiny sliver of blue light that had shone through his bedroom window. He sighed, sitting on the very edge of his bed and tugging a hand roughly through his hair.<em> How much did he have to </em>pay<em> somebody to make this shit stop?</em></p><p>He stood up once again, pulling on a jacket and reaching for the keys to the beamer. "Fuck it," he mumbled, trotting down the stairs and unlocking the front door. "<em>One, two, three, four</em>," he said under his breath, unlocking each and every individual lock on that godforsaken door. Two deadbolts, one for the door handle, another just above that, and finally, just for the hell of it, a sliding barrel-bolt lock. He stepped out into the cool night, shuddering slightly. It was cooler than he had anticipated, but nonetheless he forced himself into the driver's seat of the BMW, starting the engine and giving her a second to warm up.</p><p>Steve drove aimlessly throughout the quiet town of Hawkins for half an hour before ending up at the Sattler Quarry. He carefully shifted the car into park, sliding out of the driver's seat and onto the rocks, starting up the path to the cliff nearby. As he walked nearer and nearer, he heard something brushing against the fine gravel of the path. Instinctively his hand raced for the slim pocket knife he had stuffed into his coat pocket- opting for a more subtle approach rather than wielding the bat covered with nails that sat tucked under his passenger seat. He flicked the knife open, holding it close to his body as he approached, hoping for it to just be a raccoon rummaging around the forestry nearby. Turning the corner, he froze, peering at the figure in front of him. That is definitely <em>not</em> a fucking raccoon.</p><p>As he stood frozen with fear, the person whipped around, staring directly at Steve. Every muscle in Steve's body felt tense as the man stalked toward him with purpose. Suddenly, pushing Steve back into reality, the figure called out to him. "The fuck are you going here, Harrington?" Billy.</p><p>"And goddamn," he said, now just a few feet from Steve, "What's with the fucking knife?" Steve's eyes frantically scanned back and forth- <em>Billy, knife, Billy, knife, Billy, kni-</em>. "Well? Gonna say something or what, Harrington?" Billy sneered, one hand resting on his hip, the other holding a freshly lit cigarette.</p><p>"Uh- uh yeah I uh, I came out here fo-for some fresh air, y'know?" He laughed shakily, fingers still clutching the knife. "At 5 in the morning?" </p><p>"Could ask you the same question, I suppose. Wh-what are you doing up here, Hargrove?"</p><p>"Same as you I reckon," Billy replied, taking a long pull of his cigarette, admiring the slim stick between his finger tips. "'Cept I'm not the fucking weirdo holding a knife," he replied smuggly.</p><p>Steve inhaled sharply, closing the knife slowly and slipping it back into the pocket of his jacket. "Yeah," he laughed nervously, "I guess it seems like it," he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. Looking Billy up and down he felt severely underdressed, even given the state of his disheveled clothing. He was sporting a navy blue button down, buttoned only up to his navel, revealing the majority of his chest to the cool November air. It was paired with a pair of tight, denim jeans, a slim pendant on a gold chain around his neck, and a worn, brown leather jacket. Steve gulped, looking down at his sweatpants, t-shirt, mismatched socks, and running sneakers.</p><p>"What's the matter, Harrington," Billy mumbled quietly, stepping closer to him once again. "Feeling a bit intimidated?" He whispered slickly, his lips just a few inches from Steve's ear.</p><p>"N-no what the fuck are you on about, Hargrove," Steve responded, trying to play it cool. Billy looked up, staring at Steve with those baby blue eyes that made him just-.</p><p>"See you 'round, <em>pretty boy</em>," He smirked, so close that Steve could almost taste the booze on his breath. Dropping the remainder of his cigarette between the two, Billy strutted off into the night toward the Camaro parked just a few feet ahead before Steve could utter a single word back. He climbed into the car, turning over the engine and speeding down the road, leaving Harrington in a cloud of dust wondering what the <em>fuck</em> had just happened. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Coach and the Court</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to chapter 2- thanks for sticking around! I ended up changing the verb tenses around because I felt like it made more sense, so sorry for any confusion, but I hope you enjoy:) Let me know how your liking it- kudos and comments are always appreciated!:0</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The weekend had dragged by slowly, but surely and Steve Harrington arrived at Hawkins High School Monday morning feeling like he hadn't slept a wink. As he pulled into his usual parking spot, he sighed deeply, rubbing his fists into his eyes in hopes to wash away the feeling of sleeplessness. He killed the engine of the beamer, lazily stretching and sliding out of the car out into the cool November air. Shivering slightly, he began to walk toward the school, suddenly stopping as he watched Billy Hargrove exit his Camaro, arm slinking around Nicole Turner's waist as he rounded the front of the vehicle. Steve felt his breath hitch a bit as he glanced at Billy, eyes locked on the purplish-green bruise that stood out prominently on his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Harrington!" Billy shouted across the parking lot. Steve remained still, breathing slowly with his eyes glazed over a bit. "I said, Hey, Harrington!" Billy called out, his tone showing annoyance and a bit of anger. Steve snapped out of his daze, blinking slowly and steadying himself a bit on the hood of the Volkswagen parked behind him. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he tripped over his shoe, resuming the short walk toward Hawkins High, quickening his pace ever so slightly. "Fucking fairy!" Tommy shouted, cackling as if it was the funniest thing of the damn century. "Can't even keep a goddamn girlfriend, ain't that right, Harrington?" He continued as crowds of students began to stare at Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve burst through the front doors of the school, eyes shifted to look at the ground as he walked quickly toward his locker. He did the combo as quickly as possible and leaned into the locker, breathing heavily. His cheeks burned at the thought of what Tommy had said, at the thought of all of those people watching him run off like a goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>coward </span>
  </em>
  <span>all because Nancy fucking Wheeler broke his heart back at that stupid fucking Halloween party in October. Steve collected his things from his locker, shoving a messy stack of papers, books, and his singular notebook into his arms. Slamming the locker door shut, he made his way through the crowded hallways to English with Mrs. Sherman. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Had that bruise on Billy's jaw been there during their encounter on Saturday morning? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve thought. Surely it hadn't, he would've noticed the swollen skin when Billy had- when he had gotten so </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Steve. He shook his head and sighed, placing his things on a desk at the very front of the room and slipping into its adjoining chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was 7:20 in the morning and he was the first student to arrive to class, so he pulled out his copy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Great Gatsby</span>
  </em>
  <span>, turning to the dog-eared page he left off on- he was several chapters behind and desperately needed to catch up. His eyes squinted at the jumble of words on the page.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Myrtle, train, summer Daisy</span>
  </em>
  <span>- the words all blended and Steve's head began to spin from the blurry words on the page. He slammed the book down on the desk, startling Mrs. Sherman and causing her to jolt up from the paper she had previously been eyeing. "Why, Mr. Harrington, I hadn't even noticed that you had arrived yet," she breathed out, a hand held over her heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, Mrs. S," he mumbled, pushing the book aside, leaning his elbow on the desk, and pressing his face into his palm. The older woman gently rubbed her fingers into her temples, sighing and looking at the boy. "Mr. Harrington.." she sighed again. "I am well aware of the fact that you have a pair of glasses you've been prescribed, why don't you give wearing them a try?" She said, giving Steve a kind look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve tensed up a bit, looking at his backpack on the floor and thinking about the gold-rimmed spectacles that lay neatly in their case, shoved into a deep pocket of his rucksack. "Maybe next time, Mrs. Sherman," he replied, knowing he would never pull the pair of glasses out of the case at Hawkins High School ever again. He shuddered, remembering the first day he wore them to class the day after getting his license. He had needed to get glasses in order to get his license his sophomore year of high school, but hadn't worn them since, well you know, the first day he had received them. Mrs. Sherman quickly dropped the topic as another dozen students filed into the room, taking their respective seats as the bell rang. She stood up, brushing off her skirt and preparing for their lecture to begin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>______________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sat in trigonometry, waiting impatiently for the bell that signaled the end of class to ring so that he could go to basketball practice and head home for the night. He mindlessly tapped his pencil against his desk, bouncing his leg up and down and droning out all of the other student's conversations. Suddenly, he felt someone lean forward behind him and his breath hitched. "Hey, Harrington?" Billy asked in a low whisper. "Yeah, Hargrove?" He replied quietly, turning around to face Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "Would you mind calming the hell down and shutting the fuck up?" He laughed, his voice louder than it had previously been which caused Steve to jump at the sudden change in decibel. And just like that, the bell rang and students began to flood into the hallways, leaving Billy and Steve sat right in their chairs, Steve looking embarrassed and Billy looking smug. "See you soon, princess," Billy said, standing up, brushing off his jeans, and walking into the hallway as if nothing had just happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>______________</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harrington!" Coach shouted across the court. "Yeah, Coach?" He questioned, watching as he motioned for Steve to come stand with him. He passed the ball to a team member, walking over to Coach, sweat running down his temples and hands a bit shaky.</span>
  <span> "Harrington, well, there's no easy way to say this, but I," Coach started, avoiding Steve's eyes. "You're no longer captain of the Tigers, Steve," he said slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"B-but, Coach, what do you mean? I-." But Coach cut him off. "Steve it's just that," he put a hand on his shoulder. "You've been a bit off this season so far. Seems like the game's really gettin' to you. This doesn't have to be permanent, but I'm promoting Billy to team captain." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was what killed Steve. He felt the blood drain from his face and he began to feel dizzy. He stumbled forward, hearing Coach's voice, but not really listening, heading toward the locker room and sitting down on a bench, hands over his face.</span>
  <em>
    <span> What have I done</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. His head was spinning, but this was different from when he was in English class. His breath began to quicken and it felt impossible to get a real, full breath in. He pulled at his hair with both hands, trying to ground himself back into reality as his thoughts zoomed through his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm never good enough, this is never going to end, why does it always have to be m-</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The slamming of the locker room door pulled him out of his thoughts. His breathing somehow grew more rapidly as his entire body shook and tears welled in his eyes and he prayed that it was just the damn janitor because </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> this would be embarrassing and-.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Harrington?" Billy called, sounding .. </span>
  <em>
    <span>concerned?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve's face was laying in his palms, shielding his face from Billy's piercing gaze. "Yeah, Hargrove?" He sniffed. Billy didn't respond and Steve looked up, face beet red, cheeks tear-stained, and eyes bloodshot. He watched as Billy stared at him unblinkingly, not saying a word. "God just fuck off, Hargrove!" Steve yelled, slamming his hands down on the bench, shaking heavily. "Hey c'mon, Harrington,' Billy said, stepping closer to Steve and extending a hand out. "It's gonna be alright, man." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How the fuck would you know, Hargrove," he hissed, "you've got no idea what it's like." Billy chuckled. "Steve it's not the end of the world, buddy, you'll be captain again before you know it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "It's not like that, Hargrove."</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Billy nudged him with his elbow, forcing Steve to move further down the bench. He turned toward him, lifting his hand and putting a finger under his chin. "Look at me, Harrington," he said quietly, Steve's eyes once again were firmly focused on the floor. "Come on, Steve, just do it," he grumbled. Steve finally tore his eyes from the ground, looking at Billy. And damn did he feel fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright," Billy mumbled, "Now I want you to focus on breathing okay? Look at me, and just breathe." And Steve did just that, slowly, but surely synching his breaths up to match Billy's, not losing eye contact for a single second. "There you go, Harrington, nice and easy," Billy said, resting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing circles gently with his thumb. Steve sighed as he began to finally calm down, tears subsiding and his breathing going back to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I-," Billy cut him off. "Don't mention it, Harrington," he said, giving him one last pat on the back, standing up, and moving to collect his things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seriously," he said lowly, turning around to meet his gaze once again. "Don't mention this to anyone," he said sternly. Steve gulped, nodding slowly, tearing his eyes from Billy's form, gathering his things, and heading out to the parking lot without another word. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dustin and Door Locks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends! I'm currently working on a Pinterest board for this fic and I'm super excited about it- I'm hoping to have the link up by next week. SPEAKING OF NEXT WEEK:000 I'm graduating and what not this week coming up, so next Saturday's update may come out late depending on how busy I'll be- stay tuned for the next update :) As always, criticism is welcome and comment if you find any mistakes- I edit these myself, so I'm sure I miss some errors</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve Harrington's house had never been so empty in his entire life. Well, not physically, but rather emotionally. Steve's parents hadn't returned to their home on Brackery Court since late June, they were off on a business trip in Italy or something like that. Or <em>perhaps</em> they had simply left him for good this time. Steve sighed as he stepped through the doorway of his home, closing the door tightly. "One, two, three, four," he counted, securing each and every locking and being sure to double check. He set his keys down on the kitchen table before pouring himself a bowl of cereal, turning on the television, and sitting down in front of the fireplace, cuddled up in a knitted wool blanket on the floor. Steve took a slow, but eager bite of his cereal, savoring the sweet, crunchy bits of Fruity Pebbles. He leaned his head back, spoon still in hand, resting his head on the sofa and staring blankly at the episode of <em>The Jetsons</em> on the screen.</p><p>A sudden pounding at the door had him jolting up, frantically staring back and forth between the door and the clock on the wall which, after many seconds of squinting, he had determined it was sometime around 6:30. He stared anxiously at the door as the pounding stopped and then promptly resumed. He slowly stood up, shifting the cereal, now soggy and threatening to spill over the edges of the bowl, to the floor and edging closer toward the door. "One, two, three," he mouthed, undoing all of the locks, saving the deadbolt just in case. As he slowly pulled the door open he-. </p><p>"<em>Henderson</em>?" </p><p> "Finally, Steven," Dustin started. "Thought you'd never answer!" He finished, a dopey grin on his face. Steve unlocked the door, huffing as Dustin entered his house. "Don't call me that, <em>Dusty</em>," Steve sneered back, watching Dustin gasp. "Not funny, Steve!"</p><p>Steve shrugged. "You started it man."</p><p>______________</p><p>After a bit of banter, the two boys settled down a bit, both climbing onto Steve's couch, lazing about and watching the rest of the cartoon on the tv. "So, what brings you around," Steve questioned, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in Dustin's lap. </p><p>"Oh you know, nothing much. Hadn't seen you for a while and-," he stopped himself, averting his eyes toward the ground. "<em>And</em>?" Steve pushed, clearly interested in what Dustin felt was so important. "Well and," he cleared his throat. "Youhaven'tseemedlikeyou'redoingwelllately," he scrambled, flashing Steve a quick smile. Steve was wide eyed, not out of fear, but of pure confusion. "Wanna say that again, but about ten times slower, Henderson?"</p><p>"It's just that the guys and I have noticed you've been kinda.. off since this summer and you just don't seem like you're doing alright," Dustin sighed, finally looking up to meet Steve's eyes once again. "Oh, Dustin," Steve sighed, ruffling Dustin's hair lightly. "I'm doing just fine, buddy, you don't have to worry about me."</p><p>"It's just that-," </p><p>"Ah ah ah," he tutted, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "I am doing just fine, Henderson," he said sternly, looking him in the eyes to try and get his message across. "Now," he began once again. "I'm gonna go grab us some more popcorn," he said, gesturing to the nearly empty bowl in Dustin's grasp, "And we're gonna watch Ghostbusters, and it's all gonna be just <em>fine</em>."</p><p>______________</p><p>Billy Hargrove walked into his house on 3rd Street at exactly 8:05, 5 minutes after the Max's agreed upon curfew that had been discussed earlier that morning. Practice had run a bit later after he and Harrington had disappeared off the court for.. whatever that was and after that he had gone to Tommy's for a quick drink or two before picking up Max at the arcade. Well, that's what he had <em>intended</em> to do.</p><p>______________</p><p>As Billy pulled up to the arcade, there was not a single sign that Maxine nor any of her friends had even <em>been</em> there that night. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair, throwing the Camaro into park, and storming through the doors of the Palace Arcade.</p><p>He slammed his hand down the counter, forcing the employee to turn around. "Seen a little girl with red hair 'round here tonight," he questioned, staring him up and down. "Yeah I might have, what's it to you man?"</p><p> Billy grabbed a fistful of his shirt yanking him closer. "Listen here-" he paused, looking down at his name tag. Keith. "<em>Keith</em>," he hissed, tightening his grip. "That little redheaded bitch is my step-sister and if you don't tell me where she's at or who she's with its fucking <em>over</em> for you." Keith wiggled in Billy's grip, eyes wide. Billy couldn't help snorting at the damn Cheeto dust above the kid's upper lip. "Alright, alright I'll talk, just put me down man!" He cried out as Billy let go of him. Keith stumbled, readjusting his stance.</p><p>"Look I don't know where she went, but she was here," he started shakily as Billy peered down at him. "And?" He purred lowly, waiting for him to finish. "And that's all I know! I swear!" He confessed, holding his hands up. Then his face shifted, as if he were deep in thought. "Oh- oh yeah!" He said, snapping his fingers. "She was with that kid aw what's his name? Lionel? Layton?"</p><p>"Lucas," Billy growled, pushing up off the counter, slamming through the doors, and hopping into the Camaro. "How many times do I have to fucking tell that girl?" He yelled, slamming his hand off the steering wheel, wincing slightly and speeding out of the parking lot. The engine of his car roared as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor, directly en route to the Sinclair residence, just down the road from the Wheelers. Billy jerked the wheel tightly, turning onto Maple Street and directly into Lucas Sinclair's driveway. He stepped up onto the porch, knocking as lightly as he could physically muster on the door. The door swung open soon after, Mrs. Sinclair's face falling as soon as her eyes fell over Billy's form. Billy leaned on the doorway, his arm resting just a few inches in front of her. </p><p>"Good evening Mrs. Sinclair, sorry if I'm interrupting your night," he began. "Its just that, you see, my little sister Max said she'd be at the arcade with her friends and I was just so beyond worried when I arrived to find her missing," he sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "Any chance you'd seen her around? I know her and your boy Lucas are friends," he finished, giving her a small smile which she reciprocated. </p><p>"Why yes she is here! Give me just a second to go find her," she smiled, heading further into the house. "Well, don't be a stranger come on in-"</p><p>"Billy," he began. "Billy Hargrove," he said, stretching a hand out towards her, meeting her halfway in a soft handshake. "I'll be right back, dear, make yourself at home."</p><p>"That's quite alright, Mrs. Sinclair, I am in a bit of a rush, you know my poor step mother would be so distressed if she didn't make it home in time for supper tonight." He smiled and she nodded, walking down the hall. "What a kind young gentleman," she whispered, wandering up the stairs, presumably towards Lucas' room. Just moments later, Max followed Mrs. Sinclair down the stairs, eyes fixated on Billy, appearing slightly anxious.</p><p>"Thank you so much Mrs. Sinclair," he said, resting his hand gently on her shoulder. "It's really been a pleasure, but we've got to get going now."</p><p>"That's quite alright Mr. Hargrove, feel free to come by any time," she smiled. "And please," she added. "Call me Judith."</p><p>And with that he and Max exited the Sinclair household, her wrist tightly in his grip. He got into the Camaro, slamming the door and turning over the engine. "Do you have any idea what you've just fucking done, Maxine?" He shouted, taking off down the road. She winced, looking out the window next to her. "I'm sorry, Billy," she said, still avoiding him. He slammed on the breaks, just a few houses away from Mike Wheelers home. </p><p>"Max you have no idea how fucking serious this is!" He screamed, grabbing her face and turning it towards him. "You stay away from that Sinclair boy, you fucking hear me?" She still avoided his gaze, staring off and not responding. He slammed his hand onto the headrest of the passenger seat. "Max! I'm serious you stay away from that goddamned boy or so help me I'll-"</p><p>"You'll what, Billy? What are you gonna fucking do? You gonna kill him because you're a fucking racist?" She screamed, meeting his eyes finally. Her eyes were filled with rage and tears began to well in them as she yelled, her face becoming more and more red and Billy's heart dropped. "Stop being so fucking numb, Maxine! It's not about that it's so much fucking more and all I'm trying to do is protect you because it's my fucking <em>job</em>!"</p><p>"Fuck you, Billy," she mumbled, ripping his hand from her jaw, facing towards the window. "You'll understand one fucking day, Max- you'll regret this goddamn moment," he replied, slamming his foot on the gas and racing home to try and beat the clock. </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Curfews and Tommy Hagan Being a God Damn Idiot as Usual</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Very surprised that I was able to get this out on time! Graduation and all that stuff has been wild!:0 This one's a bit shorter than the rest, but I'm sure it'll be alright :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Billy raced through the streets of Hawkins, trying to get home as quickly as possible. He had noted the time just before they had left Maple Street: 7:59. They would never make it home in time for Max's curfew, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. The blue Camaro zipped through the suburban streets, zipping in and out around the few cars out on the road. Not a single word had been spoken by Max or Billy the entire drive. The air was dripping with tension as he pulled into their driveway, turning off his car and stepping out. Max followed silently, walking up to the front door and waiting for Billy to open it. He breathed deeply, slowly pushing the door open.</p><p>"You're late," Neil grumbled, not tearing his eyes from the small television in their living room. Max scooted by, running into her room and closing the door before Billy could cross the threshold into the house. Carefully closing the door, Billy turned around to face him. "I'm sorry, Sir, I got caught up with something and-." Neil stood up sharply, holding his composure as he walked over to Billy. "You were supposed to have your sister home at 8 o'clock-"</p><p>"She's not my-"</p><p>"Shut it, Billy!" He replied. "What," he began. "Have we been discussing lately?" He questioned, grabbing a fistful of the boy's shirt and backing him roughly into the living room wall. Billy hesitated for a split second and soon felt a sharp stinging sensation in his cheek.</p><p>"R-respect," he stuttered out. "And responsibility, Sir," he finished, breathing deeply and slowly. "That's right," Neil replied, gripping his arm tightly. Billy winced as Neil continued.</p><p>"And what you've done tonight, well, Billy, I'm sorry to admit it, but it was downright <em>disrespectful</em> of you," he seethed, leaning in so close to Billy that he could feel the droplets of saliva jutting from Neil's mouth raining down on his cheeks.</p><p>"I'm sorry, Sir, it won't happen again, I promise," he pleaded as Neil's fist raised. Pausing, he replied, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Billy."</p><p>Neil swung roughly, hitting Billy square in the jaw just as he had done on Saturday. His jaw ached almost immediately. The bruise from Saturday was just beginning to fade ever so slightly- surely he would have a similar one on the opposite side by tomorrow morning. Neil's grip on Billy loosened and he stepped back. Billy remained pressed against the wall, waiting for Neil to allow him to leave. Neil scoffed as he looked him up and down. "Go change out of that faggot <em>shit</em> and go to bed. Fucking disgrace," he hissed, sitting himself back in front of the television as if nothing had even occurred.</p><p>Billy took cautious steps toward his room, locking and closing the door behind him. He walked over to his mirror, staring at his reflection. His jaw was beginning to swell on the left side and just above it there was a bright red hand print splayed across his cheek. His eyes continued downwards to his clothing. A red button up, brown leather jacket, jeans, and a gold hoop in his left ear.<em> Worthless fucking queer</em>, he thought, crashing onto his bed, refusing to look at himself as he began to cry. He was better than that.</p><p>______________</p><p>Tuesday morning, Steve Harrington woke up sore, crumpled up in an awkward position on his sofa. <em>When had I fallen asleep?</em> Pushing himself into an upright position, he ran a hand through his hair, looking around for any sign of Dustin. A crinkled piece of paper sat on the coffee table in front of Steve.</p><p>
  <em>Dearest Steven,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It seems that our time together tonight has ended abruptly as you have fallen asleep nearly halfway through Ghostbusters. You looked like you needed it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dusty</em>
</p><p>
  <em>P.S. Have no fear, I called my mom to pick me up</em>
</p><p>Steve chuckled at the note, which was lovingly written in purple pen, and signed by the one and only Dustin Henderson. He folded the note, sliding it back onto the table. Sighing, he stretched his arms above his head, wincing as the bones in his arms cracked. He stood up and wandered into the kitchen, grabbing an apple and munching on it as he walked up the stairs into his bedroom. He grabbed a green turtle neck, jeans, a grey bomber jacket, and his favorite pair of white sneakers. As he walked into the bathroom, tossing the remainder of the apple into the trash, he looked into his reflection. <em>Damn,</em> he thought, <em>Dustin was right</em>.</p><p>Steve stared blankly at himself, running his fingers over the unattractive circles that were prominently laid underneath his eyes. He exhaled a breath he hadn't noticed that he was holding, mumbling under his breath. "The <em>fuck</em> happened to you, Harrington."</p><p>______________</p><p>As Steve pulled into the parking lot of Hawkins High, he reminded himself to keep his damn eyes to himself. The last thing he needed was more shit from Tommy, especially not this early in the goddamn morning. He pulled the keys out of the beamer, getting out and headed toward the school, eyes focused on his feet shuffling across the cracked, uneven pavement.</p><p>"Aw look him go!" Tommy hooted. Steve's face flushed and his heart rate starting to jump. <em>Calm yourself, Steve,</em> he reminded himself. <em>It's just Tommy </em>fucking<em> Hagan</em>. "Oh come on, Harrington, gimme something! I'm dying' over here!" He cackled. Almost as soon as he had finished the sentence there was a loud thud, causing Steve to jump slightly. He turned just enough so that he could see Tommy in his peripheral vision. "You better keep quiet, Hagan, you fucking hear me?" Billy shouted, clutching a fistful of Tommy's stupid fucking striped polo, blowing a long puff of smoke through his lips. "Cool it, Hargrove, what the fuck crawled up your ass and died?"</p><p>"I reckon you shut the fuck up or-"</p><p>"Or what, Billy? You gonna hit me like your daddy does to you? Well? Are you?" Tommy hissed. "I told you to shut the fuck up, Hagan!" He yelled, landing a punch onto Tommy's cheekbone and kicking him square in the nuts.</p><p>"Oh come on, Hargrove," he scoffed, getting back up and close to his face, throwing his hands out to his sides. "That all you got? Or what, are you trying to save some for when you get home to see your pops tonight?"</p><p>Billy grabbed Tommy's arms, slamming him back into the car behind him. "When are you gonna learn," Billy leered. "To fucking listen, Hagan," he finished, landing a second punch on Tommy's stupid fucking face and another one into his ribs, causing Tommy to drop to the ground with an arm clutched across his waist. "Fuck you, Tommy," he said, quieter this time, tossing the butt of his cigarette down in front of Tommy's face and slamming his heel down on it, just millimeters from Tommy's face.</p><p>Billy turned around just as Steve began walking into the school once again, not bothering to turn around to see the look on Hargrove's face.</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Dead Battery and, Fucking Surprise, Steve Still Can't See</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends, sorry for the late update!! All I seem to do is work lately :00!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been two weeks since Billy Hargrove had stuck up for Steve in the school parking lot that Tuesday morning. It had been over two weeks since Steve and Billy had even spoken, since they had more than just a quick glance or a shove in basketball practice. The normal tension between the two had begun to fade, but something new was beginning to arise- something Steve couldn't quite put his finger on. Nonetheless, things had been quiet between the two boys and Steve hadn't heard a single peep from Tommy Hagan since the.. <em>incident</em>. Things seemed to be looking up for Steve at this point. Sure, he still wasn't sleeping and he was still 3 chapters behind in <em>The Great Gatsby</em>, but hey, at least Tommy's grueling comments had seemingly come to an end.</p><p>It was the very end of the day and, as per usual, Steve sat bored out of his goddamn mind, staring at the daunting trigonometric functions that lay out on his paper before him. He was absentmindedly doodling on his paper, ignoring the dull headache behind his eyes. There was no way in hell he'd pull out those <em>damned</em> glasses. The bell rang and Steve breathed a sigh of relief as he packed up his bag and headed out the doors to the parking lot. Thank <em>God</em> there's no basketball on Tuesdays.</p><p>He started out to the parking lot, unlocking the beamer and getting ready to head home. As he turned the keys, the engine revved and went silent. Once again, Steve turned the key over in the ignition. The engine sputtered a second time. "Fuck," Steve mumbled, slamming his hand off the steering wheel, getting out of the car, and heading back toward the school, intending to use the phone in the office.</p><p>"School's locked, Harrington."</p><p>Steve turned around, watching as Billy lit up a cigarette, leaning against his Camaro. "God damn it," Steve groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. "What's the matter, Harrington? Somethin' got your panties in a twist?"</p><p>"Battery's dead in the beamer," Steve mumbled. "You got cables?" Billy questioned. " I could jump the piece of shit if you want."</p><p>"No," Steve began, choosing to ignore Billy's comment about the BMW. "What about you?"</p><p>"Nah I don't carry that kind of shit on me," he said, flicking the ash from his cigarette and shifting a bit. "Need a ride?" Steve hesitated, but ultimately decided he didn't have many other options. "Yeah I'll take one if you don't mind." Billy nodded silently, hopping into the Camaro and gesturing to the other side.</p><p>"You coming, Harrington?" He said, arm hanging out the driver's side window and fingers tapping impatiently on the door. Steve nodded in a bit of a daze, walking over to the car and getting into the passenger side.</p><p>The car was warm compared to the harsh fall breeze and smelled like worn leather and Billy's cologne. Steve exhaled a shaky breath as Billy took off, tugging a hand roughly through his hair, pulling at the long strands a bit too hard. Billy reached over, grasping Steve's wrist between his fingers and pulling it away from his hair. "Enough of that," he muttered. "It's not a big deal, Steve, it's just a battery, you know."</p><p>"Yeah," he breathed out, slightly disoriented by the use of his first name . "Yeah, you're right."</p><p>"Brackery Court, right?" Billy asked, letting go of Steve's wrist finally, letting his hand return to its rightful place on the steering wheel. Steve pulled his wrist toward his stomach, absentmindedly running his fingers over the spot in which Billy had just held it firmly in place. "Yeah, how'd you know?"</p><p>"Just know my way around Hawkins I suppose."</p><p>The two continued on the drive in silence, the low hum of the radio and the purr engine breaking up the stillness in the air. Steve glanced over, accidentally catching Billy's gaze. His face began to burn up as he looked out the window. "No need to get all flustered, princess, your secret's safe with me." Steve's eyes widened at the sound of the pet name. "What are you-"</p><p>"I think you know, Harrington," he replied, eyes still trained on the road ahead of him, drumming his fingers on the wheel casually. Steve actually <em>didn't</em> know what he was talking about. Or what he <em>thought</em> he was talking about at the very least.</p><p>______________</p><p>Billy absolutely loved fucking with Steve- how could he resist when the older boy was so easily embarrassed? It was all a big game for Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington was his favorite pawn. In reality, he really didn't know any sort of secrets about Steve Harrington, he had simply just said something he'd thought would get him going. He smirked, keeping his eyes focused on the road and ignoring Steve's mindless babbling in the passenger seat of his car. And God <em>damn</em> did Steve look good sitting in the passenger side of the Camaro all pressed up against the black leather seat and flustered beyond belief. It was fucking <em>adorable</em>.</p><p>Billy sighed, shaking his head ever so slightly; not that Steve had noticed in the slightest. He was still far too preoccupied thinking about what Billy had just said to him, completely oblivious to the fact that Billy had pulled into his driveway. At least a full minute had gone by before Steve finally looked up from his fidgety hands, flushing beet red up to his hairline when he realized they had been at his home for quite some time.</p><p>"You gonna need a ride back to the school after you call the tow company or?"</p><p>"No, no I don't think so I think I'll just have them tow it here," Steve said, sighing and running a hand through the coffee colored strands of his hair. "Thanks by the way," he added, moving to open the door. "Hey, Harrington?" Billy began, a bit of hesitation showing in his voice. He prayed Steve hadn't noticed. "Yeah, Hargrove?"</p><p>"You wanna catch a movie tonight? 's on me if you're interested."</p><p>He watched as Steve stiffened, pausing with the door partially open. He turned toward Billy, looking him dead in the eyes, squinting slightly. "This some kind of joke, Hargrove?" He questioned, crossing his arms across his chest.</p><p>Billy scoffed. Did people really think he was that much of an asshole? <em>Damn, what's it take to show a guy a nice time?</em> "Yeah, Harrington, I'm serious. You in or not?"</p><p>Steve stared off as if he were contemplating, thinking about his oh-so-many plans to choose from for the night. As if. "Alright, if you're in I'm in," he said finally. Billy smirked, holding back a full fledged smile. He couldn't let Harrington know how much he had wanted him to say yes. "I'll be back here by 7- don't be late, Harrington," he said, as if he weren't the one driving. Steve nodded absentmindedly, stepping out of the Camaro. "See you then," he said, shutting the door and trotting up the stairs without turning back. Billy smiled. He always got his way.</p><p>______________</p><p>6 o'clock rolled around and Billy Hargrove was already starting to get ready. Sure, it was a bit early, but better early than late, right? He smirked at himself in the mirror, knowing he looked fucking <em>fine</em>. He wore a white, silk button up, a tight pair of blue jeans, and a gold hoop in his left ear. It wasn't his most extravagant outfit, but it wasn't exactly his most subtle either.</p><p>His stereo was at about half volume as he danced about the room, jumping around as he styled his hair. This wasn't a date, well not that Steve knew of, but he'd be damned if he didn't look good. He swapped his typical leather bracelet out for a thick, gold chained one which he wore on his right wrist, complimenting the singular earring slipped into his left ear. He winked into the mirror, applying his best cologne and throwing on his denim jacket. Billy snatched the keys to the Camaro off the top of his dresser, turning off the stereo and heading for the front door.</p><p>"Where the fuck are you going?"</p><p>Billy stopped dead in his tracks. "Have a date, sir," he mumbled. Neil nodded silently, taking a long pull from the can of beer in his hand.</p><p>"Don't get any bitches pregnant."</p><p>"Yessir," he replied, opening the front door and sliding onto the cool leather of the driver's side seat. Neil knew that wouldn't be happening. Probably just wanted to get under Billy's skin, make him feel like less of a man than he already was. He scoffed, throwing the car into drive and peeling out of the driveway. He was gonna feel that one later, but in the moment that didn't matter to him.</p><p>As the shitty houses on Cherry Lane slowly morphed into the beautiful ones of Loch Nora, Billy found himself beginning to calm down. He couldn't show up to Harrington's all worked up- he couldn't <em>afford</em> to start a fight with the damn kid after he had already beaten the shit out of him just a month before. The speed of the Camaro dropped down from 60 to 35 as he turned onto Brackery Court, pulling up smoothly to Steve Harrington's dumb rich boy house with those annoying fucking curtains that were always closed, sealing the house off to the outside world.</p><p>Steve stumbled out the front door looking like an absolute tool. He wore a light blue Champion sweater with a navy blue polo collar peaking of the top, a bit lopsided and disheveled looking, a pair of tight denim jeans, and a new looking pair of Nike Cortez- what a fucking <em>prep</em>. Nonetheless, Billy smiled faintly as Steve walked over to the car, stumbling over the loose end of a giant, downy comforter he held tightly in his arms. Billy rolled his eyes as Steve got in, stuffing the comforter in the back seat. "What?" Steve questioned, watching as Billy rolled his eyes at him. "You're a fucking <em>loser</em>, Harrington."</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Quick Update for Every One!!! (Author's Note)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hey guys!! I've decided to update both this story and my other one biweekly starting this week. I'm pretty much working full time now since graduating and I'm dealing with college stuff and overall trying to embrace summer as best as I can. I should have an update out for everyone by next Saturday, I hope you'll all understand! I'll also delete this post once the next update is posted so there's no interruptions :)</p>
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